His Eyes Are Sad
by doodlefreak
Summary: Umbreon worries over its trainer, Gary. What could have made his eyes like that?


**Okay, tried something different. This is going to be from Umbreon's POV, and I'm still not sure I got it right. Pokemon are very hard to characterize, as they are neither humor, nor animal. Please forgive me if I make Umbreon a little bit... off. I tried, ya know? :sigh:**

**Warnings: Mild shounen-ai hints at the very end... though it can be seen as friendship, too. And it's not entirely specified who 'he' is, anyway... Who knows, it could be his grandpa he's talking about! I really don't know what I was thinking when I wrote this... it was a ten minute affair, alright?  
**

**Disclaimer: The owner of Pokemon is a very lucky (rich) man... Sadly, I am not that man, and I don't think I ever will be.**

**_Enjoy_  
**

* * *

_**His Eyes are Sad**_

* * *

My trainer is acting so strange today. Unlike most, he's doesn't have his nose in one of those paper things that always has his eyes sparkling. It makes me happy to see him like that, but today it's just not the same. The paper is sitting on his desk, along with the rest of them. His drink is cold; I can smell its stale atmosphere from my seat on the floor. His hair is an unruly tangle of chocolate brown locks, much more than usual. And it doesn't even smell nice like it normally does, either! I wonder what's the matter with him.

As he sits in a plushy chair next to a window in the office, I climb onto his lap and snuggle into the warmth there. Winter here at his new place is so cold, so much more strained than when we were with his relative; the old one, Professor Oak, I think his species was. I liked him--he smelled like my friend here. And his lap was just as warm.

A warm hand is placed on top my head, and I look up into his water eyes. I remember, when I was small, I used to love their color. So pretty...

"Hey, Umbreon. What's the matter, huh?" He says to me. Always so nice.

I coo and nuzzle under his chin, worried. I hope he gets what I mean.

"Hungry?"

My stomach isn't empty, but my ears perk up anyway. I like food; the smell, the taste, the way it rolls on my tongue. So pleasant! Though the warmth is gone as he sits up and places me on the tiled floor, I'm happy.

Before I even know it, the food is in front of me in my new dish, and my friend is walking back to his seat. Why? We always eat together...

"Um--Umbreon!" I call. My ears flatten on my head and my eyes narrow. Why is he like this? I don't understand, but I'm angry.

He doesn't turn around. The chair makes a 'plomph' sound as he sits in it. A long whisk of air leaves his mouth and I tilt my head. Why is he sad?

With no hesitation of leaving my food, I bound over to see what's wrong. His sad eyes are making me depressed, and I want to know what's wrong. Nothing bad has happened lately, so I don't see what could be the matter. Maybe he's sick? No, he doesn't smell like it; it's still the same, musky scent that has always comforted me when I'm sad. I hope I can do the same for him.

I jump into his lap again and push my paws into his chest, looking him strait in the eye. He looks startled--I wonder why, but there's still a cloud behind his line of sight, like he's not really looking at me.

"What wrong, buddy?" he asks me.

"Umbreon!" I feel worried now. I end up spewing a stream of my own words; words that he can't understand completely, but I know he can hear the voice behind.

"Woah, woah! Slow down there! Now, what's gotten into you?"

He takes his hands under my front legs and pulls me down to lay on his lap. His cool hand pats down my bristling fur, smoothing it back to its usual glistening blackness. I purr thankfully. His pats are always nice.

"Now, why don't we calm down? Did you eat your food?"

I look guiltily at my full food bowl across the room. He doesn't look with me.

"Did something scare you? Are you sick? Worried? Tired?"

I feel confused. How does my behavior equal to being sick? I know I'm not tired.

"Maybe a little bit delusional...?"

I startle slightly and my fur bristles again. He notices.

"Oh, sorry."

The comforting patting stops, and he gets that far off look in his eye again. Someone, I know that those questions weren't for me. For him, maybe?

He confuses me so much. Instead of going off again, though, I simply rest my head on his lap and doze off. He'll probably be better in the morning, or after my nap. He always is, so it has to happen again, right?

Before my vision becomes completely hazy, I hear him mumble something before he, too, goes to sleep that makes it all make sense.

"...hope he's okay..."

And I'm asleep.

* * *

**Reviews and constructive criticism are very much appreciated! Though I'm as fragile as an Oddish, so don't hurt me! Flames will either be laughed at, raged on, or cried upon, depending on my mood.**


End file.
